“Gone Girl”

Rated R for a scene of bloody violence, some strong sexual content/nudity, and language

Have you read the novel “Gone Girl,” the global best-seller by Gillian Flynn, adopted and beloved by an infinitude of book clubs, primarily populated by the distaff gender? If so, you have most certainly seen “Gone Girl” the movie by the time this review hits the printed page. If not, read on!

It is a comfort that the author wrote the screenplay preventing a molestation of the author’s creation. David Fincher directed the film and his unique style (“Fight Club,” “Panic Room,” and “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo”) matches quite snugly the novel … or so I am told by my Director of Primary Research for Novels Transformed to Cinema.

It would be unfair for me to spoil the fun by describing too much but let me go so far as to tell you that this is about a marriage about to unravel in a most dramatic way. The husband, Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) and wife Amy Dunne (Rosemont Pike) met in New York where they had a lovely romance. Then Nick’s mom got sick and he felt a need to come home (with wife) to small town Missouri, which, apparently, is a rural-suburban hell for these two sophisticates.

Amy is the daughter of the authors of a children’s book series called “Amazing Amy,” loosely based on her childhood. This made her famous and rich. Nick is a corn-fed Missouri boy of working-class upbringing with dreams of being a great writer. His mother dies and they remain in Missouri. He and his sister open a bar (for the working class Missourians) and their relationship stagnates. Eventually the marriage begins to decay. And then Amy disappears and the media circus begins.

Evidence mounts indicating a murder. Secrets and lies are revealed. Nick looks guilty. But all that appears to be true is not. Who knows what evil lurks behind the McMansion doors?

Stuff happens … and then Nick’s lawyer (Tyler Perry — as I live and breathe!) announces to the Media Mob that nothing less than a “Miracle on the Mississippi” has occurred. Or is it a miracle? Or could it be something very sick and sinister? (Bet on it.)

Imagine if “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” didn’t last long enough to grow into an acrimonious daily ritual of bitter recriminations and verbal rage. Think if the dial were turned up way beyond the artful exchange of snipping and snarling by the fifth anniversary. That is “Gone Girl.”

Rosamund Pike is chilling; Ben Affleck is pitch-perfect. Amy is an amoral narcissist; Nick is a self-absorbed reprobate. The chemistry between the Det. Rhonda Boney (Kim Dickens) and Officer Jim Gilpen (Patrick Fugit) display a flawless ballet of blue-collar and backwoods repartee.

Side Note: The geographical hints point to the fictional location to be the for-real Cape Girardeau, Mo. And indeed that is where it was filmed. I picked up on that given that I was once a corn-fed Missouri boy with at least one family member who spent more than a few years in the aforementioned town. Funny thing: the Cape Girardeau accent, I mean the real hometown accent has a strong resemblance to the Huntsville, Ala. twang of actress Ms. Dickens. I mention this since I have kinfolk who read my column and I am invoking personal privilege … and I don’t need to be told I have forgotten all that simply because I have lived in self-exile from the Show Me State for a lifetime.

I commend to you “Gone Girl.” I enjoyed it even if I saw the end coming all the way from the first (wink-wink) reveal. I know there are more than a few “implausibles” contained in the film, but I gladly put them out of my mind to see the fascinating evil interplay of the human mind (or minds) and the natural and common desire for “spousicide” play out beyond the simple exploration of same in one’s imagination.

Go now to “Gone Girl.”

I grant four bow ties out of five to “Gone Girl.”